


the kids are(n't) alright

by smallredboy



Series: love you like that [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Ableism, Autism, Autistic Greg House, Bullying, Communication, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Internal Monologue, Introspection, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Touch Aversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 04:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18909883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: House deals with his newfound kinship with Leah.





	the kids are(n't) alright

House can’t help but watch Leah as she plays chess with Wilson.

She’s so impossibly small, really — long, thin legs and a way rounder belly than when they first got her. Hair down to her shoulders, her face full of positive emotions she hadn’t seen in a long while. And oh, he gets it, okay— he gets being a ten-year-old and not understanding why he is so sad all the time. Why he doesn’t trust any adults, much less his parents, how dysphoria was eating him alive back then.

They’ve got similar histories, from what the social workers have told him. She was in two foster homes before getting there, at the House-Wilson household, and neither of them seems to have been any good. What he’s been told is nothing compared to what he can see. The bruises over her ankles, the way she flinches whenever she’s touched without a previous warning. And he gets it, he gets it.

She’s small and she’s still got so much going for her. She’s smart— she’s picked up talking again with a bit of ease and a bit of difficulty, her tongue slipping around some words. He’s gotten her a speech therapist with the stark orders of not rushing her, of not shaming her for not talking. The therapist understood, from what he’s caught, and Leah is happy. Sometimes she still signs, and it doesn’t bother him. He likes to learn a new language. Learning is better than dwelling; most of the time, at least. Dwelling often turns to self-destruction or to coping badly, so he tends to try and not to think about his past too much. He’s content with Wilson’s kisses to the nape of his neck and his whisper of ‘you deserve so much better’, most of the time.

Sometimes, Leah gets nightmares, and he understands it too. Sometimes he leans over her bedroom door.

“Can I come in?” he asks in a careful whisper.

“I’m— I’m sorry for- for waking you,” Leah breathes out, voice shaky with how scared she is. She’s tiny— a dot in his field of vision.

“I wasn’t sleeping, Leah,” he tells her. “Can I come in?”  
  
She stays silent for several seconds, her lip trembling. The only light is from the moon and the lamps outside. “Yeah…”   
  
“Okay.” He steps in and he kneels next to her bed, his face twisting at the pain immediately pulling at his missing muscle. It doesn’t hurt as bad as other days, though, so he sucks it up. He draws in a big gulp of air and stays still before putting a hand on the edge of her bed. He’s careful not to touch her.

“Do you want to tell me what your nightmare was about?” he asks, ever so gentle.

He briefly thinks about how no one who works for him would believe this, even if they saw it with their own eyes. He’s not popular for being gentle with anyone, but he’s always had a soft spot for children. The thought of him leaving a mark on them that’s nowhere near positive— it makes his mouth sour, so he always tries to not be as harsh with them. Especially with the child patients he gets sometimes; god, he should be better with everyone, something Nolan has reminded him again and again. But just kids works for now.

There is just something magical about them, how they’re so young, so carefree. Well, most of the time— sometimes they’re not carefree. Sometimes they’re like him or Leah or Chase. Sometimes kids aren’t happy; he wants to keep Leah happy, for as long as she’s under his care. He needs to. He has to.

“Well,” Leah stammers out. “I-it was about— about my dad.”  
  
House’s heart sinks, and he can’t help but have his knuckles go white while he grabs the sheets. “I’m so sorry, Leah.” 

“He was—” She starts crying again. “I-I’m sorry, I s-should— I’m just s-so scared.”  
  
“I know,” he says with a string of his voice left. He looks up at her, trying to not let his own tears flow as he doesn’t touch her, just keeps his hands on the sheets. “I know how it feels, Leah.”

She sobs softly, and there’s a silent understanding between them.

* * *

"Are you okay?" he asks Leah when she comes back from school. She collapses on the couch without a word coming from her lips, buries her face on the soft material of one of the cushions.

He sits down next to her. "Is anything happening at school, Leah?" he asks gently, keeping a few inches in between them as he tries to coax the answer out of her. He notices the small changes— she's been signing less, even when she's stressed, and she talks more than normal. That would make him happy and proud, usually, but she talks like someone's forcing the words out of her. Like she doesn't want to be talking with her mouthparts, but someone is forcing her to.

Of course, he has a theory or two. But he needs to confirm them before he goes to cause Hell on Earth for anyone who dared to hurt Leah. It's an intrinsic need to protect her, something coming deep from within himself.

"I'm…" She struggles with the words.

"You can sign," he reminds her. "If you'd prefer to, sign."

"No, I can't!" she says. He's surprised by the exclamation, and he looks at her eyes. She immediately looks away, fiddling with her hands. "No— no one knows how to sign at school. I need to- to talk more, because everyone knows I'm a _freak_ —"

House resists the urge to pull her into a tight hug, shush her, ease all of her worries. He knows what it feels like. He knows, oh, he knows. The stares and the backhanded compliments of oh you're so smart, oh you're so weird like any genius. It stings to think about it, even decades later, especially when similar treatment still happens again and again.

"Are kids from your grade telling you this, Leah?" he asks, trying not to be angry. To not _act_ angry.

But he is. He hopes she can't tell.

"Yeah," she whispers. "I get bad grades and I'm weird I c-can't talk most of the time there and it's always so _loud_ —"

"I know," he shushes. Tears prick at his eyes. "I know, Leah." There's a pause. He needs to hug her. "Can I touch you?"

She looks up at him, eyes red with tears. She's so vulnerable. "Yeah," she mumbles.

He immediately puts a hand on her shoulder. She doesn't flinch, so he brings it down to her side, to the middle of her back. Always careful. "Can I hug you?" he asks.

She swallows. "Yeah."

He hugs her tight, hands digging into her shirt about a size too big (she had insisted to buy it, that she'd grow into it eventually). He kisses the top of her head and she clings onto him too, sobbing against his chest freely.

She's so tiny, her frame about half of House's width. She needs to grow more, she needs to be healthy. Her therapist is making huge strides and her speech therapist is so kind, but there's a lot of work to be done still.

House needs to bring Hell on that school.

* * *

"So," House starts, sitting as he watches the teacher with an icy glare. She's shorter and bigger than him, long hair down to her hips, and she seems to be going pale as she recognizes him as that prestigious yet terrible diagnostician. "My… foster daughter, Leah. Has informed me that she's being bullied. And from what she's said, it seems as if you have done nothing to stop it."

The teacher gulps before she starts, "She hasn't come to me—"

"It has been in the classroom!" he interrupts. "You have seen her be called a freak and made fun of because she doesn't speak much. I want this Paul kid's parents here and I want to have a long, _long_ talk with them about ableism and about bullying."

The teacher lets out a noise. "Well, Paul's parents, uh, Dr. House—"

"I don't care about who his parents are," he says sharply. "I will teach that kid a lesson. He needs to leave my daughter _alone_ ." He takes in a breath. "I know there are more kids who think it. Who approve what Paul thinks. Who talk with their parents about how there's a—" A shuddering breath comes out of his mouth. "How there's a retarded kid in their class. And I want it to stop. I want you to talk to them and explain that Leah is just another kid, even if she is a little different. I want her to be _fine_. I want her to be alright— I want her happy, even!"

The teacher looks at him with an interested, nearly weirded out look. "This seems pretty personal to you."

"She's my daughter," he repeats. "And of course it's personal to me. Weird genius diagnostician, remember?"

She sighs and nods, making a few scribbles on a notebook. "I will get it all planned out so this stops immediately."

House stands up and gives her a judging look, his leg complaining at the jerky movements. He ignores it; he can take the non-narcotic when he's out of her line of sight. "Well, Ms. Cartwright, thanks for the favor. And if I find out she's still being bullied…" He fixes his glasses. "I _will_ let you know."

She nods curtly. "Alright, Dr. House."

It's only after the adrenaline and the anger fades that he realizes he called Leah his daughter multiple times. He wants to feel embarrassed, but it only is right. It's correct.

He smiles as he heads to his car, eager to spend more time with his husband and his daughter. He hopes Leah agrees with that identification.


End file.
